Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
by Julesville
Summary: The story of Star Wolf, Wolf's ride through reluctant revenge, Leon's mission to regain honor, Pigma's obsession with the lime light, and Andrew's blindness. In the Lylat Wars, what side you are on is not your badge, but your way out of the conflict.
1. Creator

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing  
Chapter 1 – Creator  
  
By Fumo  
  
Contact me @ julesville@hotmail.com   
  
Author's note: I like violence, pain, greed, and smut; it makes for a really good story.   
Peace.  
  
-------  
Wolf walked up to the doors, and, slowly, placed a hand on the stiff wooden pallet   
with chapped red paint. He made an effort to be quiet as he pushed it open on it's   
squeaky, swinging hinges, and slipped inside the small doorway. Inside the light, as he   
expected, was so minimal that light bulbs that hung in certain places acted like small   
islands of yellow illumination and the other spaces of the room merely contained blotchy   
dark figures and objects that slightly stood out. Wolf could barely read the stylized red   
letter graffiti written across the back wall that read, Horace Heights.  
  
No one within made too much of a response to his one eyed head peering in. The   
bartender, a grim, but uninterested looking opossum raised his head up from his work of   
pouring a tall brown drink for another patron. The bartender conveyed a look of disdain,   
then returned to his work.  
  
Wolf pushed a little more and slipped inside the building. Around him were a few   
shady looking creatures seated at bar stools and tables keeping to themselves as they   
nursed their alcohol. Wolf strolled slowly by a pool table while keeping a sly gaze on the   
two gray hounds playing a disinterested game of pool while smoking stumpy cigarettes.  
  
Wolf looked from side to side, searching the room, before finally taking a seat on   
a metal bar stole near the end of the bar. He settled down there, placing his elbows on the   
counter and propping his long chin on his folded hands.  
  
The bartender, slowly walked over to him and pulled up an empty glass from   
underneath the counter, "What can I get you?" the bartender asked with a disinterested   
tone in his surprisingly stalky voice.  
  
Wolf thought a moment, "A glass of water..." Wolf figured it would be better then   
asking for a glass of milk.  
  
The bartender gave him a weird look, but gave up and went to a refrigerator,   
selected a container of liquid and poured it into a clear glass.  
  
Wolf took the glass of clear stuff without so much as a thank you, and held it up to   
his eye. It was a little chalky to be pure, but hopefully it wouldn't be poisonous. He took   
a drink and was satisfied.  
  
Suddenly, a shrill whistle echoed through the room, emanating from a spot behind   
Wolf. Wolf was not one to be startled so he slowly lowered his glass and turned his head   
toward the source, a shady booth in the far corner where two figures sat calmly, their   
backs to the bar and the tavern in general. No one else in the tavern seemed to care or   
even to have heard it, the gray hounds continued their lack luster little game.  
  
Seeing as no one else was going to answer the call, Wolf picked up his drink and   
strolled over toward the corner. His booted feet made loud taps on the hard cement floor   
as he made his way over, breaking the relative silence, only off set by the sound of ice   
bumping against glass cups and the sound of the q-ball hitting the rest of the lot. Wolf   
came over to the booth and stood there in front of it's two occupants, waiting and   
contemplating.  
  
Two smooth and collected creatures, sat there, sprawled out on the plush cushions   
of the booth, holding glasses. Wolf looked over the two carefully.  
  
The one more into the booth was a monkey, well into his life as you could see   
from the lines on his face, arcing around his thinly cut features that expressed intensive   
use and eyes that spoke of wisdom. His gaze spoke to Wolf in a way that conveyed the   
man's age, but also his skill, the very centers had full attention on Wolf's eyes, showing   
this man thought with his whole brain, they expressed no emotion other then the slight   
convection of contentment, this fellow's own contentment with himself. His right hand   
was under the table, his right on top, a few centimeters from his short glass of reddish   
brown liquid, he had a simple leather strap watch on his slender wrist, and a deep-looking   
scar on the back of the lower digit on his pointer finger that went a little ways onto his   
knuckle, an odd scar, one with a story no doubt.  
  
The other was a deer, a white-tailed deer to be exact, a female. She was slender   
and smooth seated near the edge of the booth closest to Wolf. She was clad in a smug   
black tank top and slender pants, her fur was a rich brown, but also had several pristine   
white patches over her back and shoulders. She had a slender snout with a cute button   
black nose, coy perched-down ears, and quiet black eyes, eyes that remained pasted down   
at her slender hands that were holding a tilted over, empty beer bottle, gently caressing   
the opening of the barrel, rubbing her long, slim index finger over the lip again and again.   
She had a strange tattoo, a menacingly happy drawing of a clown's visage on the side of   
her back near her armpit, it's happy face, diluted with sinister smile and soulless eyes   
mocked those who looked at it, it was soul stirring.  
  
Wolf stood there for one second more, then slowly seated himself in the booth,   
placing his drink on the table and folding his arms in front of him on the table, and stared   
into the monkey's eyes.   
  
"All right, let's get this out in the open cause I hate dodging the point, ok." Wolf   
pointed to himself, "I am Wolf O'Donnell, I spent 4 years at the Cornarian Institute of   
Aeronautics, graduating the top of my class. I've flown to every part of this system from   
Aquas to Titania. I've killed more pirates and dissidents then an inquisition. I'm one of   
the best damn pilots around, and that's not just bragging, I am."  
  
Wolf pointed his finger at the monkey, "You work for Andross, that psychotic   
self-styled god of death, who as we speak is systematically killing Lylatians all over the   
system. We have some stuff in common, but what I can't seem to figure out…" Wolf said   
putting his finger down, and looking off whimsically, "Is why you would have anything   
at all to say to me, but what is even more puzzling is why I want to know the answer,   
why I came all the way here to this dive, on Katina, to hear you? So, I'm done… done   
bull shiting. What do you have to say to me?"  
  
The monkey smiled at Wolf, the deer did not move.  
  
The monkey opened it's mouth, "Hey bro, you answered your own question,   
because you're the best."  
  
Wolf leaned back, "Well, yeah that's a good reason to want to talk to me, but not a   
good reason to waste my time."  
  
"Of course not," the monkey said, "What I have to discuss with you is   
significantly more important."  
  
Wolf took a sip, "I thought so…"  
  
"I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Mr. O'Donnell…"  
  
"Don't call me that, that's my father's name, I'm just Wolf."  
  
"Very well, I could bore you with a lot of garbage about ideals, Wolf, about how   
Andross will succeed, about how you should jump to the winning side before it's too late,   
but you don't want to hear that, you just want to hear the money talk, right?"  
  
"Pretty much…"  
  
"All right bro, I've got that for you." the monkey smiled brightly, but his tone   
soon became very serious "We would like you, to sell your services to our militia."  
  
Wolf nodded and took a sip.  
  
"We are prepared to make it worth your wild, too."  
  
Wolf nodded again, sucking on his glass.  
  
"30,000 credits right now, 20,000 a month, plus a commission on your number of   
Cornarian kills, as well as, all the perks of being a Venomese officer, the cars, the clubs,   
the…" the monkey's eyes shifted to his companion, "girls…"  
  
Wolf's eyes shifted to her as well, she made no movement besides the continual   
massage of her bottle's lip.  
  
The monkey continued, "You'd get your own command, an elite squadron of your   
chose, all the latest technology, you'll be set."  
  
Wolf snorted, "All those things, I can get from the Cornarian Defense Forces. I   
thought you were here to offer me something, mister…"  
  
"Alexander is fine." the monkey said, "And of course that's not all."  
  
Wolf leaned back and took a sip, "What else then?"  
  
Alexander smiled slyly, "It's not so much what we can offer you, but what you   
can get out of a union with us…"  
  
This sparked Wolf's curiosity and he turned to look into Alexander's eyes,   
"Yeah…"  
  
"First thing, I'm going to get idealistic here, Andross is going to win. Come on,   
it's obvious. Two weeks ago, we took Titania and Macbeth, almost no time later, we   
grabbed up Zoness, a week ago we obliterated that arms base in Sector X, 3 days ago we   
blasted the fleet over Aquas. There's no way to stop us, we're like a freakin' force of   
apocalypse, there's no hope. We know about that little fleet yard in Sector Y, a piss poor   
attempt to regroup and strike back at us, we're ready to strike against Katina and Fortuna   
within days, stomp what's left of the Cornarian Military, it's only a matter of time until   
we drop into Cornaria City and the President is a POW. Understand?"  
  
Wolf looked away to the quiet girl, still staring down at her bottle, caressing the   
lip, "That's not my concern. If you've already won, then you don't need me. I'll join the   
CDF, and give you guys some competition."  
  
"There's more to it, bro. Second thing, while we do have superior forces, superior   
technology, etc. What we don't have are superior people."  
  
"Yeah…" Wolf said disinterestedly, continuing to search the fawn's emotionless   
eyes.  
  
"We're made up of a few officers who are as dedicated as I, some brainless kids,   
and plenty of robots. What we have in technology, we lack in ingenuity, let's face it, the   
entire senior officers corps is made up a pompous planners who like to hide behind big   
experimental toys."  
  
Wolf snorted, that was kind of funny, a fanatical Andross monkey follower who   
was insulting his own master's fleet, maybe this particular monkey was a bit different.  
  
"What we really need now are heroes… smart front line guys, crack fighters,   
gritty, dirty, down to earth, lone-hearted folks that the kids can aspire to be. Some one the   
Lylatians can fear at night. You understand?"  
  
Wolf continued to look at the girl, still seemingly uninterested, "I'm not interested   
in being anyone's hero."  
  
"Chill man, there's more. Third thing, and this is the last and most important, your   
consequences of joining the Cornarian military."  
  
Wolf looked up from the girl to peer into Alexander's skilled eyes again, "My   
consequences… my…" Wolf's tone got slightly more indignant, "What the hell do you   
gotta say about my consequences?"  
  
"Easy, tiger, I'm just saying. Look, I'm going to tell you something that you know   
is true. If you join CDF, you'll be a star of course, but you will be second place."  
  
Wolf lifted an eyebrow curiously, this monkey was getting at something.  
  
"Because of your inability to work with certain Star Fox members, you'll have to   
settle to be number two behind CDF poster child, Fox McCloud. Star Fox with no   
doubtably eclipse whatever second rate squadron you'll be attached to, and you'll have to   
be satisfied with clean up duty or garrisoning or fleet actions, none of the fun stuff that   
piloting is all about. And I know, this you can understand."  
  
Wolf had to admit, this was the most sense he'd heard in awhile, the dreariest he'd   
heard too. The one flaw in his mercenary ideals, that CDF would not recognize him as the   
premier flyer that he was.  
  
The monkey held up a hand to convey something like it was a great idea, "But… if   
you join our militia…" Alexander leaned in close, "We can make you a deity…"   
Alexander leaned back with a devilish smile, "There will be no one in the entire fleet   
better then you, no one who will command more respect besides Andross himself. We   
can give you the spotlight you dream of at night, the prestige of being the best in the   
universe, and most importantly, we can put you in the direct path of Fox…"  
  
Wolf narrowed his eyes in a trance like state.  
  
"You will become Fox's counterpart no doubt, you'll be opposite forces of nature,   
like two colliding planets… and you'll win, you will take all the hope vested in Fox   
McCloud and drain it slowly, you'll completely annihilate the CDF's pampered prodigy,   
you'll have not only passed Fox, but incinerate him in your jet wash… and all that will be   
left is the O'Donnell, and the McCloud name will be bloody and silent…"  
  
Alexander stopped, no doubt to let Wolf gather the sheer volume of what was said.   
Wolf could only think of that name, McCloud, and everything it stood for, everything it   
upheld and cherished and what it meant to him.  
  
"Let's get something straight, Alexander," Wolf started staring into the air   
intently, "The McCloud family for five whole generations, has been the greatest force in   
this system. Since the days of Fox's great great grandfather Cyrus McCloud, the Star Fox   
squadron has been the best paid, best equipped, and simply best mercenary squadron in a   
permanent contract with the CDF. Each McCloud was a genius in a plane, and there is no   
one I respect more… then James McCloud."  
  
Alexander didn't look surprised, but interested, "Yeah…"  
  
"Yeah, he's my hero. There was no pilot that could shot him down, no pilot that   
could out maneuver him, and no staffer of a general could keep his spirit down. You   
know… I met him, a few times, and there was no finer person, a legend like him, he   
actually listened to me when I spit my feelings at him like a teenage boy band fan, he   
didn't look at me like a dumb pilot candidate, he talked to me like an equal. There was no   
one else I wanted to be more like then him, and I worked so hard, hoping that one day I   
could be good enough to fly with Star Fox."  
  
Wolf chuckled to himself as he remembered old times, "Back when I was just a   
pup of 15, I saw him at a dry cleaners, right there in Cornaria City. I got so freaked out I   
nearly fainted. I gathered up my strength to talk to him, I introduced myself timidly, and   
you know what he did, he introduced himself right back, like he was a regular person… I   
told him how excited I felt when ever I heard news of his exploits, how I had every action   
figure they made of him, how I was him for Halloween once, and he just listened intently   
like I was a real honest to god friend. He talked to me right up until his laundry arrived,   
and before he left he told me, that hero worship was all well and good, but even though   
he'd done great things, he was still a person, so I should worship regular people instead."  
  
Wolf gave himself a moment, "I worked hard from that day on, got accepted to the   
Institute, I met Mr. McCloud a few times after that, mostly during lectures… he   
remembered me… Then he died, the only way a legend could, in combat, doing what was   
most important to him…"  
  
Wolf looked down at his glass, what was left of the clear liquid quivered lightly,   
and he could see his scared up face in the reflection, "And then I met Fox, at the Institute,   
James's baby boy, and I was sick. That novice was nothing like his father, a child, a   
dweeb. He spent his days sleeping instead of going to class, he went out partying instead   
of studying, and then his daddy died, and he gets Star Fox, all of it! He became the owner   
of the squadron, the deals, the empire… He never worked a day in his life and he steals   
my spot because of his blood!" Wolf was fuming now, staring down into the ghostly face   
in the glass, "I wanted to be like Mr. McCloud, he wanted to goof off, I wanted to be a   
part of Star Fox, he wanted to drink and get laid… And what was worst of all, is that it   
was over for me. There was no goal for me now, my hero was dead, so my dream was   
dead, I could never be a part of Star Fox, a part of the legacy…" Wolf started to mumble,   
"Mr. McCloud could never be my… father…"   
  
Wolf took a moment to collect himself, to calm down, staring into his one cold eye   
in the glass and his grim eye patch. He looked up at the monkey who was staring   
solemnly at him.  
  
Wolf sighed, "So, there it is, I respect the McCloud name, but that Fox guy is the   
one who leaves it bloody and silent. If I'm going to do this, it will be to put an end to   
Fox's mockery of Mr. McCloud's Star Fox, can you help me reach my new goal?"  
  
Alexander smiled, "Of course…"  
  
Wolf managed a short smile and extended his hand, "Then I guess we have a   
deal."  
  
Alexander smiled brighter and took Wolf's hand and shook it slowly.  
  
Out of the corner of Wolf's eye, he noticed the deer finally moving her eyes   
slowly up to look at him with a lucid gaze. Wolf let go of Alexander's hand and looked at   
her full on. The two stares linked for a millennia aside from now, and only a moment   
later, there was reconnection with the world. Just another one of those looks  
  
"Who's the girl?" Wolf asked Alexander without turning his head.  
  
Alexander chuckled a bit under his breath, "Forgive me, bro, this lovely creature   
to my left is the Lady Paula, but for intensive purposes she is known as Agent Failure."  
  
Wolf smiled, "Pleased to meet you…"  
  
The smile was not returned, "Like wise…" she said in a beguilingly innocent   
voice like one's little sister might make. She then turned her head to Alexander, "Shall I   
get the car, Mr. Olkonny?"  
  
Wolf shot a confused glace at Alexander.  
  
Alexander didn't look back, just smiled at the deer, "Yes, Failure, I think we're   
ready to go."  
  
Wolf's eyes turned away to watch Failure get up and leave, walking away,   
swinging shapely hips, and push outside the red swinging doors. Wolf's attention turned   
back to Alexander, "You're an Olkonny?"  
  
Alexander slid his way to the side of the booth, "Yep, Andross is my big brother."  
  
Wolf smiled, this Alexander Olkonny monkey was certainly a interesting   
character.  
  
"Now, if you will, Wolf, come with me, I have some very interesting things to   
show you."  
  
------  
  
Wolf traced one finger along the window seam in his boredom. Using the   
broadness of his thumb to measure the short expanse of rubber divider between the   
smooth plastic frame and the bitter cold glass-like substance that was the window pain.  
  
He hated long trips where he wasn't driving.  
  
Wolf turned his head to look out the window edged by a line of frost. Before him   
was enough to make a tactical officer cry. Before him in the black see of space were   
countless ships of war, thousands of steel masses of computer and weaponry. The large   
boxy ships of the line, some hundreds of feet long, flowed calmly in the murky bleakness   
of the universe, sliding ever so slowly like logs a river of black water. Many had large   
Laser Artillery mounted on them, staring grimly forward with that one black eye. Their   
elegance was only mirrored by their ferocity, needless to say, in the battle of Wolf versus   
the destroyer, wolf was soup.  
  
In between and everywhere else, fighters of all shapes screamed through the silent   
wake of the colossal ships. In pairs or squadrons they ripped paths around the larger   
ships, traveling from one side of the fleet to the other. Little ones, a long pyramid shaped   
with a laser cannon hanging tightly underneath zoomed fairly close to his transport, five   
of them in a line formation, their boosters blazing behind them. These looked fairly   
interesting, having small nubs on the front and beneath, no don't a retro-firing jet system   
of some sort allowing 360 turns in mid air. A neat design, but they looked like he could   
take them out with slingshots.  
  
A lone fighter passed by from the other direction, with the queer out of place look   
of a butterfly, fluttering placidly through space. Wolf leaned forward to follow it with his   
head as it passed all the way out of his line of sight. It didn't look very tough, but looks   
can be deceiving.  
  
Every once in a while, Wolf would spy one of those "experimental" ships. Peeking   
out from somewhere and racing off at incredible speeds. Coated in all sorts of weird   
weaponry; huge metal tentacles, large obtuse cannons, energy-based death lances of   
nuclear oblivion, and what not. Each one was possibly the most terrifying thing you could   
look at, because who knows what each devise could accomplish.  
  
Wolf had no fear though. Where any other Cornarian would be freaked out of his   
mind at the sight of this armada, these folks were now his allies, and most were also his   
subordinates.  
  
When Wolf started his personal reflection sequences, he liked to use a phrase like   
"Life is funny" or "Life can be funny sometimes," something really corny like that, but   
essential to start your thoughts off, but in the end personal reflections were corny too.   
Either way, life was funny, not any funny a person or even Wolf could get, but funny in   
the way it changes too abruptly from one second to another.  
  
It always amazed Wolf how change occurred, it never was over a period of time, it   
always had to be right then and there, and from then on, the thoughts only 3 seconds   
before were irreverent and outdated and life was eternally or so simply changed, it also   
pissed the hell out of him and scarred the crap out of him too.  
  
One week ago, Wolf was alone looking for work, hitting up all the mercenary   
agencies for those lucrative freelance jobs for fighter pilots. The war had no effect on   
him, at least not in the foreseeable future. He was oblivious on Cornaria, living off his   
reputation, the war was the concern of the CDF, not his. If they wanted his help they   
could ask.  
  
Then, he receives a call from the last people he expected to be contacted by, the   
enemy. The hoards of fascism, Andross's new order, a pack full of crazy sons of bitches   
who served ideals based on war. They wanted to meet him, and Wolf, not being one to be   
prejudice, agreed to meet them, out of sheer curiosity. Now, he was one of those sons of   
bitches. Now, what had been his modus operandi a week ago, no longer applied. He'd   
entered a pact with his soul in the balance to achieve a blood vendetta that didn't even   
really matter to him a week ago. Pretty god damn funny isn't it.  
  
Wolf leaned his head against the cold glass to try and get a glimpse in front of him   
of a grim gray space station. Like a wheel that stopped abruptly in space with a pair of   
spikes for an axel. It's roof was adorned with laser cannons, another evidence of the   
fleet's incredibly destructive potential.  
  
The transport quickly floated it's way into a small rapidly-rising port door. The   
transport came to a halt, hovered, and then landed on the shiny black conduit of the small   
docking bay's floor.  
  
Sensing it was his cue, Wolf leaped out of his seat and stretched out cramped legs   
and back. A small port to his right slid open on smooth hydraulic pumps and let in a   
warm burst of air that filled the cabin. With nothing better to do, he worked towards it   
and stuck his head out first, getting a look at the small, yet very open docking bay with   
black basalt floors and gray plastic walls, then stepped out onto the top of the ladder that   
mysteriously appeared.   
  
These Andross punks worked fast. There were already a couple, green jump suited   
dock workers with plastic mouth masks, working on the underside of the transport,   
connecting docking feeds and emptying exhaust trays, aided by non-descript maintenance   
robots.  
  
Wolf took a few steps down the stairs, and stopped when he realized he didn't   
know where he was going. He turned to one of the green-garbed technicians, "Hey chief!   
You know where I'm supposed to be?!" Wolf yelled down to him.  
  
The technician, a cat by the looks of him, looked up at him briefly from the tube   
he was carrying, then pointed with one long arm toward the back of the docking bay, then   
went back to work.  
  
Wolf looked in the direction the tech had pointed to arbitrarily, there was a simple   
hallway gate near the rear of the bay.  
  
Wolf made the effort and trotted down the stairs and walked briskly to the gate.   
Inside, it was poorly lit, but several feet in, he could see the exit, into another docking   
bay. Walking as fast as he could without looking like he was trying too hard he made it to   
the end, and wasn't surprised by what he saw.  
  
This bay was at least 4 times as large as his tiny little bay, and lined up in neat   
little rows were masses of Venomese fighters. Painted black and gray, adorned with a   
cannon or too, looking like fanatical soldiers lined up in columns and ready to strike, very   
imperial. In some of the open sections, were rows of pilots, in their exercise gear, doing   
push ups and such, lead by drill sergeants, keeping in top condition for whatever they   
were getting ready for, something destructive no doubt. A whole squad of multi-raced   
pilots was jogging their way around the bay, their rhino faced drill sergeant yelling   
inaudible things in his deep baritone.  
  
Technicians and all manner of assistant robots, from welders to tool boxes,   
scurried around the bay, doing all sorts of important things, in that speedy manner that   
comes with dedicated or fanatical upkeep.  
  
Behind it all, the bay door was wide open, covered by a magnetic field keeping the   
atmosphere in, exposing the bay to the humbling view of the universe, Sector Z in the   
distance, and the even more humbling view of starships sliding by and fighters screaming   
in and out from between them.  
  
Yet more evidence of Andross's maniacal efficiency.  
  
"Impressive isn't it…" A disembodied voice called in a creepy sort of manner.  
  
Wolf suppressed his urge to shiver at the sound of that voice, despite the fur on the   
back of his neck raising up. Upon further examination, Wolf realized, the voice wasn't   
disembodied, it was just from behind him.   
  
Wolf turned his head behind slightly, expecting to see Alexander. He sighted a   
monkey in a suit out of the corner of his eye and, assuming it was him, turned back to   
gazing at the bay, "Yeah…" he said apathetically.  
  
Alexander's way of sneaking up on you was just more evidence to that fact that   
this guy wasn't the usual fanatical monkey. He was smart, cautious, and devious. If all of   
Andross's kin was like this, Wolf would have to watch out.  
  
"Five years of my big brother's planning, culminating in the biggest offensive this   
system has ever seen. They sent us to die on Venom, but we thrive instead. What does   
that tell you?" Alexander asked, still behind him.  
  
"That you folks are pretty smart…" Wolf said apathetically, placing his hands into   
the front pockets of his trademark dull black vest, military design allowed the thick   
material to stay warm in the cold and cool in the heat.  
  
Alexander chuckled a bit, obviously amused by Wolf's unconvincing answer,   
"This is Area 6, bro, the Revolutionary Militia's staging point, it's also the major 'force'   
training and housing site for new troops. This is the most sophisticated military outpost in   
the system. This is the Emperor's fist."  
  
Alexander's little speech was unmotivating to Wolf's ears, but the phrase 'force'   
training perked his interest, whatever that meant.  
  
"In their punishment," Alexander said walking forward, "They've given us a   
power you couldn't even imagine. Right there on Venom."  
  
Wolf looked over at Alexander who now stood next to him. Alexander no longer   
wore those discreet street clothes. Instead, he wore a rather form fitting and extravagant   
officer's uniform. A deep red color, like blood, covered the suit coat and pants. It was   
however, less special looking as other officer's uniforms Wolf had seen. Lacking ornate   
things like medals and tassels, just the simple bar across the chest and the silver "A"   
insignia on the collar indicating his high rank. This guy didn't believe in flash and flair,   
just the basics, most likely to fool people into thinking they were dealing with a much   
less important person. His officer's cap, with it's explicit "A" on the front, was tucked   
under his arm. That worn face that beguiled his exuberance was still on as he smiled,   
admiring his master's fleet.  
  
"And that power would be…"  
  
"Uh uh uh," Alexander said acting all cute, "There are some things you aren't   
ready to hear."  
  
Wolf turned his head away, "Look, Olkonny, I just wanna get started, ok."  
  
"Very well." Wolf heard Alexander fiddled with his pocket then presented a small   
box with a clear top for Wolf to take.  
  
Wolf looked at it with curiosity, then took it to inspect it closer. Inside, imbedded   
in gray foam was a pair of small silver 5-pointed star pins, "What's this for?"  
  
"Your current status in our militia is outside the ranks, a mercenary, but the militia   
doesn't allow for there to be mercenaries, this is a Revolutionary Militia, so you are not a   
mercenary, you're just outside. That puts you under my jurisdiction."  
  
"And what jurisdiction is that?" Wolf asked.  
  
"Venomese Intelligence."  
  
Wolf liked the sound of that, an intelligence agent. It just seemed kind of cool.  
  
"Anyway, for my purposes, I'm giving you a military rank, you are now a one star   
general."  
  
"Cool…" Wolf said as he put the box in his vest pocket.  
  
Alexander began to walk towards the group of star fighters, "Now, let me   
introduce you to your crew."  
  
Wolf shot his head up to stare down Alexander, but only caught the back of his   
head as he strolled away from him, "Hey, wait. You said I would have control of this   
squadron.  
  
"You do."  
  
Wolf moved to catch to with him, "Then why am I meeting my squadron, I though   
I had the chose of my squadron."  
  
"Calm down, bro, you have full authority on this," Alexander said looking straight   
forward at the clump of fighters, "We just chose some of our better folks to join up with   
you. So you wouldn't have to go through the trouble."  
  
Wolf growled to himself, as he trailed behind, "That wasn't part of the deal…"  
  
"Wolf, I'm just trying to make your job easier."  
  
Wolf, chose to be silent. As much as he didn't like being pushed into anything,   
making a fuss was for children. He was too old and too smart for temper tantrums. He   
would see what this monkey was going to show him, and then decide, and if he decided   
he didn't like it, he would say no, no to everything, as calm as that. Many might think   
him a push over because of his smooth, tranquil style, but no one could ever take Wolf   
where he didn't want to go.  
  
Wolf followed Alexander into the field of Invader-class fighters, a sturdy medium   
interceptor type, and past a squad of pilots doing relentless push-ups to the warbles of a   
brutal looking lioness drill sergeant. Alexander diverted his path numerous times to go   
around the silent vessels, but stayed on course. Wolf stuck his hands in his vest pockets   
and followed slowly.  
  
Alexander led him to specific craft, that had certain portly individual in torn blue   
jeans leaning over the cock pit of the of an Invader. He looked like he was trying to reach   
something that fell under the seat.  
  
Alexander turned to Wolf with smiles, "May I introduce to you, you're new   
partner, Pigma Dengar."  
  
Wolf's eyes dilated in near disbelief, but also the twinge of unfortunate irony was   
evident in them, "Excuse me?!" he questioned.  
  
The guy in blue jeans, apon hearing Alexander's presentation, jerked back and   
leaped off his stomach onto the ladder. The portly fellow rose to full height, still facing   
away from Wolf. He was a short person, but wide, his portly sides were bulging on his   
tan flight jacket. His pink hands were mostly covered by dirt, giving them a light brown   
coat, it looked more like potting soil then like grease. This chap was a pig, his short pink   
ears bent to the side, and his blunt nose sniffed the air a few times, beady black eyes   
focused coldly on Wolf.  
  
Wolf turned to Alexander, "Pigma Dengar!?"  
  
Selecting a cloth draped over the side of the fighter, Pigma wiped his hands off,   
"Well, well, if it isn't the young Wolf O'Donnell…"  
  
Wolf turned back to Pigma, barely containing a growl, then returned to stare   
harshly at Alexander, "No way!"  
  
Alexander almost chuckled, "Come now, bro, what's wrong with mister Dengar?"  
  
"Wolf shot an accusing finger at Pigma, "What's wrong is he killed James   
McCloud.  
  
Pigma snorted a laugh, "What do we have here…" Pigma said quietly to himself, a   
repugnant smile on his face.  
  
"This guy is a traitor to the core! I can't have him in my squadron!" Wolf accosted   
Alexander with his words.  
  
Pigma snorted again, "Your squadron?" the evil, disgust provoking smile on his   
face.  
  
Wolf turned back towards the pig on the ladder, teeth glaring, "Yeah, my   
squadron."  
  
The animosity conveyed in Wolf's knife like gaze was not reflected in Pigma's,   
more like a look of silly irony and the self-superior look you get when you know   
something someone else doesn't.  
  
Pigma glared his teeth too, in a toothy grin, "You're confused on a couple things.   
First off, this is not your squadron." Pigma flicked his head toward Alexander.  
  
Alexander smiled at Wolf, and Wolf just looked at him cautiously.  
  
"This is his squadron." Pigma proclaimed, "And you, apparently, are leading it,   
that's all. Don't get all territorial on us."  
  
Wolf chose to be quiet, and just glare at Pigma with vengeful eyes.  
  
"Second, you're mistaken about my involvement in the death of the late Captain   
McCloud…"  
  
"What's there to mistake?" Wolf interrupted in the coolest voice he could manage,   
"You betrayed Mr. McCloud three years ago to these guys, and then you killed him."  
  
Pigma's smile dropped into a heavy frown, but his eyes remained superior, "I   
made the smart decision, boy. It was survival of the fittest, if I didn't make a stand, I   
would have ended up as dust."  
  
"Oh, what a convenient, self-serving answer."  
  
"Hey, I can't die yet, I got things to do, I've got a wife and kids to feed."  
  
"So, you killed your friend."  
  
Pigma smiled again and folded his arms, "There are some things that you are just   
too young to understand Wolf. There's only one thing you can depend on, yourself, and if   
I followed the captain in here, or followed Peppy Hare, the lap dog, I would be dead, no   
negotiating. No I didn't pull the trigger, but, yeah, I am responsible for James's death. So   
what, it was either him or me. Do I even have to tell you which is the better decision."  
  
Wolf just growled at the fat pig, then turned to Alexander who had a pleasant   
smile on his face, "I am not working with this guy."  
  
"You don't have a chose in the matter." Pigma said out of Wolf's sight, Wolf not   
wanting to look at him.  
  
"I'm afraid it's going to have to stick this way, bro." Alexander said.  
  
Wolf bestowed his business killer glance upon Alexander Olkonny, "Come   
again?" he said more like a quiet demand to change what was said then like a question.  
  
Alexander made a stupid look and shrugged, "It can't be helped, Wolf, we need to   
have Pigma on this team.   
  
"So, you're squelching on our deal."  
  
"Of course not, you have complete control of this, I'm not changing that, but I   
need Pigma here too. He's one of the best pilots we have, plus one of the most news   
making."  
  
Wolf raised his eyebrow, "What does that have to do with anything?"  
  
Alexander's mood became a little less pretentious, and a tad more serious as his   
smile sank, "When I hired you, I told you I needed heroes, ok, folks that the people could   
believe in. I didn't want guys who could get the most kills, I wanted the ones who could   
make the most news. I have you, the winner, the Anti-Fox, the born leader, and the   
number-one killer in the fleet, and with Mr. Dengar, I have the glorious spy, the defector,   
and the wise veteran. This is the kind of squadron that will raise morale and keep the   
Militia rolling on happy feet. Understand?"  
  
Wolf made a disgusted look, "And how many more heroes are you gonna pull out   
on me?"  
  
"Just one more."  
  
Wolf turned around to face the field of star fighters, weapons of war propped up   
like freshly painted figurines on a desktop. The lioness drill sergeant over saw with   
computer like precision the mountains of sit-ups she was forcing her troops to do.  
  
"And he would be?"  
  
"Andrew Olkonny, my dear nephew."  
  
Wolf lowered his head, "You gotta be kidding me."  
  
"Fraid not, Wolf." Alexander said, "But don't let the fact that he's Andross's kin   
affect your opinion of him, Andrew is a very talented pilot."  
  
"Oh, so his family has nothing to do with this decision."  
  
"Well… what's power if you can't be nepotistic. So, I guess he's the royal one, the   
direct descendent of the throne, the nephew of the great master, and the youngest, so he's   
the prodigy."  
  
Wolf groaned to himself as he watched the lioness chastise a certain lizard pilot   
who wasn't going all the way up on his sit-ups.  
  
"Andrew is a good fighter, Wolf. It's not like I'm setting you up with a cinder   
block. He'll also listen to you, he's knows who has the command."  
  
Wolf smiled to himself, he was given free reign, but only inside a box. That was   
all right though, Wolf didn't take crap, but sometimes it was thrust upon him, that's when   
the smarter part of you mind takes over. The emotional part of the mind, the one that   
keeps you firm and righteous, keeps the ball in your court, but when it wasn't, the logical   
part of the brain could get the ball back into it.  
  
Wolf was happier now, he could see where he stood, and from their he could step   
up, with permission or without.  
  
"OK, Alexander, I accept these two for my squadron." Wolf said in a smooth tone.  
  
"Excellent, then let's…" Alexander started.  
  
"But…" Wolf interrupted, thrusting a finger up in the air, "I'm gonna need   
something."  
  
"Um… go for it." Alexander said behind Wolf.  
  
Wolf heard a big stomp, Pigma had jumped off the ladder and landed hard on his   
feet. Wolf chose to ignore this.  
  
"I will take this Andrew and you too Pigma, as long as you give me two more   
spots on the team, one combatant, and one non, ok."  
  
"No problem, bro."  
  
Wolf's canine lips curled into a smart smile, he turned around to see Alexander   
smiling as well, and Pigma, looking rather disinterested, leaning against the ladder.  
  
"Great then, I'll see you in a couple of days."  
  
Without so much as a good bye, Wolf turned on his heel and walked through the   
fighter patch that spread across the conduit like crab grass, and made a brisk b-line   
toward the gate he had come through.  
  
It was time to put the ball into his court once again.  
  
--------  
  
Pigma let out a disgusted snort, his beady eyes moving away from the rapidly   
escaping Wolf and back toward Alexander, "Really cute, Alex."  
  
Alexander turned his head back to him, his naval cap still under his arm, "What?"  
  
Pigma looked at him grimly, "Tell me one more time, why that kid should get   
control of this, I get 2nd place."  
  
Alexander turned fully to Pigma now, smiling with simple thin lips, "Isn't it   
obvious, he's got that one thing we need."  
  
"No, it's not obvious."  
  
"Look, bro, you've got the experience factor, yes, you've got the wisdom factor,   
yes, you may be a better pilot, but let's face it, you're old."  
  
Pigma raised his eye brows in surprise, "Well you don't have to throw it in may   
face."  
  
Alexander held up his hands apologetically, "Sorry, bro, I didn't mean to be   
harsh."  
  
"I'm only 41..." Pigma said sadly.  
  
"All I mean is, you're no spring chicken, or… no spring pig."  
  
"So, I'm not a teenager, what difference does that make."  
  
"Pigma, this is like no war ever fought, this is a war of public opinion. The   
Revolutionary Militia and the CDF run on the backs of the people. Public taste is now   
what fuels the offensive."  
  
"What are you saying, people don't like me, and like O'Donnell more?!"  
  
"No, I'm saying, like the music industry, we need major fighters who are cute,   
photogenic, perky, sexy, and mysterious, as well as good pilots."  
  
Pigma shot a finger up in the direction that Wolf had exited in, "You call that guy   
sexy?! He's your pop star?! What the hell!?"  
  
Alexander rolled his eyes, "No, I don't think he's sexy… I think he's got that   
thing that all the kids are into."  
  
"I still don't see why we need kids to be part of this?"  
  
Alexander put his hand against an Invader and leaned on it, "Look, bro, what's my   
position. I am Director of Venomese Intelligence and I'm Commissar of Venom, a part of   
Venomese Intelligence is propaganda and moral, I have to make sure the troops and the   
people have something to believe in. Now, the whole Andross socialism ideal is good,   
but it's very broad and very 'in the long run.' So I look at Wolf and you know what I see,   
I see a charismatic individual, I see some one you could pick out of the crowd. He just   
portrays something so deep when you look at him, you know there's a story behind him.   
You can also tell that boy is a star, he's doing something or is going to do something big.   
Am I right?"  
  
Pigma shrugged, "He certainly is a character."  
  
"Yes, well… I mean, he's got grunge flare written all over him. He doesn't listen   
to authority, he's calm and collected, and committed. He's a propaganda officer's dream.   
He's someone the youth want to be like, you understand now?"  
  
Pigma looked at Alexander through cautious eyes, "That sounds screwy to me."  
  
"Well, screwy is as screwy does."  
  
"What every that means, you're gonna create a monster."  
  
"Monsters are as monsters do."  
  
"Uhh… I'm just saying, you're gonna severely reduce the fighting capacity of this   
outfit if you raise the media influence."  
  
"Oh, you guys can handle it."  
  
"And speaking of us, what is my position in all this." Pigma said, glaring   
accusingly, "I'm not your sexy superstar, so what am I?"  
  
"Chill, bro. Although Wolf, and to a lesser extent, Andrew, are good fighters, I   
need them for the media stuff. You, however, are my no nonsense dude. You're there to   
make sure the shit doesn't hit the fan. You're the muscle, and the real teeth behind this   
beast."  
  
Pigma smiled to himself and let out a small delighted chuckle, "Sounds   
important."  
  
"It is the most important, I can't go having my number one team getting all banged   
up. And as an incentive…" Alexander looked at Pigma with devious eyes, then reached   
inside his collar down into a pocket beneath his jacket and pulled out a open white   
envelope.  
  
Alexander tossed it to Pigma, and he caught it with a simple flick of his fingers.   
Pigma opened the white package to reveal a large amount of red A-Bills, the currency of   
Andross's empire, more commonly referred to as "ables." About 60 red ables, which   
added up to 9,000 Cornarian credits, but that was only a guess.  
  
"Hey, what's this for?" Pigma said excitedly.  
  
"Call it a little reward for your continued loyalty, and there's more where that   
came from, if you make sure our little canine friend doesn't go making any career   
mistakes."  
  
Pigma's eyes rose, he liked the way Alexander got to his point, through flagrance   
and deviousness at the same time. It was like being part of some shady underhanded deal,   
it made you feel like a spy.  
  
Though Alexander's little shpeal seemed innocent enough, it's subtext was   
undeniable. Alexander wanted Wolf to be an idol, if Wolf was ever to do something not   
worthy of the station of an idol, he would need to be put to an idol-like end, and Pigma   
would be the gunman.  
  
Pigma lower his tone, "Want anything special to finish it."  
  
"Patriotic, loyalist, you know how heroes die, don't you…" Alexander said with a   
business like serenity, bringing up old occurrences with his last note of sarcasm.  
  
Pigma chuckled, "Well… you keep me in the bucks, and I'll kill Andross for you."  
  
"Let's wait and see if it comes to that." Alexander said solemnly, walking at a   
slow pace off through the forest of metal strut trees, "Take care, Pigma."  
  
Pigma smiled at the back of Alexander's head, "See ya, Alex."  
  
Pigma shoved the envelope into his jacket's inside pocket. He turned back to the   
fighter he was inspecting, climbed up the ladder, and resumed the arduous task of trying   
to retrieve his sun glasses from underneath the pilot seat, without actually getting in.  
To be continued later, my chillins!  
  
Bethlehem nor any of his other personalities owns Star Fox 64, and make no claim to it.   
He does, however, own all characters and concepts exclusively his creation, don't bother   
asking to use them because he won't let you. If you want to try anyway and hear my   
lengthy "NO!," Contact me at julesville@hotmail.com. 


	2. Ideals

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing  
Chapter 2 - Ideals  
Fumo doesn't own Star Fox 64 and makes no claim to it, but all characters and devise of his sole creation are the property of Fumo and Fumo alone:  
  
Note: This has been maybe my best story so far, I've gotten so many nice comments and reviews from people, so I just want to say thank you.  
-------  
  
Leon yanked back on the stick hard, pressing it almost all the way back between his legs. As a result, the view outside Leon's cockpit changed dramatically, the pleasant view of escaping snowy fields and frosted over pine trees, with snow capped mountains, rushed downward and was replaced by the eternal blue sky of Fortuna. The view continued to rush over until Leon could see the green and white scenery again, this time above him.  
  
The stress put on him by the force was easily ignored, he'd had it worse, and you eventually get use to it.  
  
In the distance, flying below the inverted landscape, a distant sharp-angled craft was gaining on him, and soon the ship was in view, barreling towards him. It was a simple Cornarian Defense Fighter, more commonly known as a Sprig, the standard line fighter of the Cornarian Defense Forces, made by the nationalized company National Cornarian Manufacturers. Simple nose cone and swept wing design were it's trademark, drenched in a light red paint job.  
  
It flew straight at Leon's own Sprig fighter, painted green to contrast the other's red, it's one laser cannon was firing a green lance a second into Leon's vicinity.  
  
Leon smirked, and jerked the stick to the side, his fighter did a roll, turning right side up again, the green lasers arcing past his cockpit and wings, singeing the air inches beside him.  
  
In a split second the two fighters blazed past each other, Leon moving slightly upwards to make sure the two didn't crashed. Quickly, Leon jerked back on his stick again. The scenery shifted once again upward. Leon, however, didn't wait this time, and corrected his path in mid flip.  
  
"Shit!" someone yelled over the radio into Leon's ears.  
  
Leon's unlucky opponent must have seen what Leon was attempting to do, which was going to lead to his death. Leon finished his arc over, and saw the red Sprig taking a long sweeping turn back at Leon to the right. It appeared the red Sprig was trying to turn to face Leon once again, but Leon was much faster in his turn, and now caught the red Sprig in his sights as it exposed it's top to him.  
  
Leon chuckled over his com, "Pathetic..."  
  
Leon lightly tapped the trigger on his stick once, then twice. In response, the base of Leon's ship rumbled and blasted out two streams of green super heat. The blast compensated for the red Sprig's speed no problem thanks to Leon's arc to the side. The first laser struck true, hitting the tip of the black shielded cockpit, the second hit as well, splashing against the shielded area behind the cockpit where the vital engine parts were held behind a fancy red covering. The cockpit could do little to stop the brilliant death, the black plastic instantly melted, letting the laser pass inside the cockpit, lighting up the electrical equipment and body inside, causing the small spaces instant combustion and it's fiery explosion, blasting out the rest of the plastic and the sides of the craft. At the same time the other laser sliced through the rear compartment, burning and igniting the engine within, the combustion ceased and the exploding began, shooting flames in random directions as they ripped out of the pale red skin. The end result was the combining of eruptions into one luminous sphere of cascading red and orange hues. The Sprig was enveloped in this ball and disappeared completely from view, but as the sphere diluted into black smoke, Leon could see charred and fractured pieces of the fighter careening forward with the same momentum the plane had had only a few seconds before, flailing about like Frisbees and falling harmlessly to the forest floor below.  
  
Leon chuckled to himself, there was never anything so final as a big freaking explosion, this game was over. Leon let go of his stick and stretched his fingers.  
  
The transparent cockpit scene of smoking sky and stoic pines became slightly more opaque, as a number of large shadowed words appeared floating in the open air in front of Leon.  
  
You Win, was the message, proceeded by a list of stats outlining Leon's score, a soaring number, compared to 5 others which were dwarfed in inspection.  
  
Leon smiled to himself, but felt a little bit empty inside. A victory was so much more satisfying when it actually meant something. Video games were fun, but lacking in any real point.  
  
A second set of the words appeared, stating that player 3, Leon, had placed in the top ten of the 10 all time highest scores. Leon typed his name simply as Leon and thumbed the enter button. Immediately, the list of the top ten appeared, showing Leon's bright score as first, as well as spots 2 through 8 being scores of Leon as well, the 9th being far less then the 8th, secured by a Dan the Executioner, and the 10th by a Smokin' Joey Jamieson.  
  
Leon was untouchable, these street kids downing their weekly allowance at the arcades could never hope to raise to Leon's heights, but would that be the only legacy Leon would leave behind?  
  
Leon quickly flicked the latch on the side of the cockpit, prompting the kissing sound of a sealed lip being popped open, followed by the brisk charge of cold air rushing in to fill the smaller space. Leon pushed the top of the cockpit up stiffly, and the plastic cover flipped over to reveal an environment very dissimilar to the one he'd just witnessed. Flashing ceiling lights replaced the clear blue sky, the snowy landscape was replaced by greasy gray floor, and the frosted over trees were now plucky kids with money to spend and towering arcade consoles. Even the Sprig was really a pod with endless wires leaking out and a replica cockpit cover.  
  
Leon put on his victory face, and pulled himself out of the pod, hopping to the floor. He reached in quickly and grabbed his trademark white trench coat, which he'd taken off to maneuver better. Putting it on to shield himself from the cold, he smoothed out the wrinkles as he buttoned it and attached the belt and walked smoothly around the pod.  
  
Next to Leon's pod was another one, exactly like his. In fact, there were six in total all positioned around a central tower. Atop the tower were two video screens, one listed stats of the various happenings of Leon's recent game, the other showed scenes of some impressive moves during the game, nearly all were Leon's impressive moves, and most were of Leon's Sprig taking another ship out. Above it in stylized letters was the title of the game, Rival Skies III.  
  
Leon approached a group of youth, late high schoolers, circled around each other by the open-air entrance of the arcade. Each held long frowns on their differing faces, commenting quietly to each other. Leon's victims they were, all five scruffy little upstarts met a humbling defeat at the claws of Leon. They quieted as they spotted Leon's venomous smile.  
  
Leon opened his hands gingerly showing himself off, "Well boys, that's life, six go up, and six come down, but only one under their own power."  
  
The group all groaned and looked down.  
  
Leon turned to point up at the television screen showing the scores with the big "Winner: Leon!!!" on it.  
  
"Per your requests gentlemen, I defeated you all, in less then 10 minutes, and my hit percentage is a hundred percent. Now..." Leon raised a palm to the crowd, "Pay your debts."  
  
The group of assorted adolescent creatures shuffled around in their shoes for a moment. Their seeming leader however, a robin, just frowned at Leon.  
  
"Hey man," the robin spoke in a halfway confident voice, "There's a war going on now, we can't go spending our money on crap."  
  
Leon frowned at the young radical, "Oh, I see, looking to spend your money on practical things because of the war. Well, consider this your practical flying lesson, some combat training from a graduate."  
  
A pig looked up with wide eyes, "You're a graduate from the Institute? A real fighter pilot?!"  
  
Leon smiled and nodded, "Uh huh."  
  
A white house cat turned to speak into the robin's ear, "No wonder we got our ass kicked..."  
  
The robin looked on grimly, "You hustled us."  
  
Leon chuckled, a presumptuous lad this robin was, "I didn't hustle you, kid. I made a gentleman's bet, which was extremely in your favor. I over came the odds. Now pay up, twenty credits each."  
  
The robin growled as he shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out a few credit bills.  
  
"Tico, man..." the cat appealed to the robin.  
  
"Shut up!" Tico the robin reprimanded, shoving the wade of cash into Leon's up stretched hand, "Just pay him!"  
  
Reluctantly the other youngsters dug through their pockets to try and find the amount due. One by one they coughed it up and plopped it into the pile on Leon's hand, making chance comments.  
  
"Man, there goes my weed money..." A sparrow commented to the cat.  
  
"If I wanted to get screwed and lose twenty bucks I could have went to that whore down on 12th street again..." the pig joked in a morbid sense of humor.  
  
Having been alleviated off their poorly considered debt, the group moved own with grumbles and groans as Leon watched them, smiling. Leon selected a ten credit bill and shoved it in front of the pig before he left.  
  
"Since you've been such good sports, have a couple games on me, prepare for the war..." Leon said.  
  
The pig, obviously not one to pass up money for a useless thing like dignity, took it quickly and moved on with his pack of losers.  
  
This was pretty much Leon's life now, swindling easy money out of high schoolers at Rival Skies. Leon was known now as the raider of arcades, hitting almost every arcade on the Boardwalk in Snowfall, the biggest city on Fortuna, regularly. He would gather a crowd of thick-pocketed little hot shots, challenge the most arrogant to virtual battles, and clean up the cash. There wasn't a fighter video game that didn't have him in the highest score on the Boardwalk. It had kept him paying the rent, but it totally demeaned his life up until then.  
  
Four years at the most prestigious institute of aviation, and it amounted up to him hustling kids all day.  
  
Leon looked down at his palm full of sweaty, crumpled money, his life's work. Where once the soul of a soldier was his goal, now he used the duel, the sacred competition of worthy and respected opponents, to make pocket change.  
  
"A good haul?" Leon heard a voice call from behind him.  
  
A lifetime's worth of recognized voices flooded through Leon's head, but this one stuck out no problem, having so dominated all the others. Leon turned and upon receiving confirmation, smiled brightly.  
  
Outside the arcade's open air gate to the many miles of Boardwalk stood a wolf with an eye patch standing slouched and hands stuffed into a worn dark gray vest, smiling calmly.  
  
"For today, yes." Leon answered, "What up, Wolf?"  
  
Wolf smiled more and strolled over extending his hand. Leon took it and gripped it firmly like a brother would.  
  
"What's up is I'm cold. Couldn't you find a warmer place to hide out than Fortuna?" Wolf chuckled.  
  
"For hiding out, there's no better place then Fortuna. And I'm not hiding."  
  
"Uh huh, sure, and you're fighting little kids for their lunch money for what reason?"  
  
"Hey, I'm just trying to get along in a unfair world."  
  
Wolf stroked his chin, "Yeah... being dealt a bum card in life'll do that to you..."  
  
"Indeed, so what brings you to my humble hunting grounds?"  
  
Wolf chuckled, "Unlike you, old buddy, I was dealt a lucky card recently."  
  
Leon's smile grew slightly more devilish, "Really, so I'll assume you're here to share the wealth with your old school chum."  
  
Wolf's smile became more devilish as well, "Oh yeah, this is quiet a large amount of wealth that will require a soldier to help me spend it."  
  
"Splendid, so, what do you say I treat you to a cup of coffee, I recently came into a decent amount of pocket change."  
  
"Lead the way."  
  
-------  
  
Leon used his spoon to stir the sugar into his bleak dark coffee, tapped it on the side of the cup and placed it on the table. Lifting it up to his face he breathed deep the rich ground coffee smell, fresh and hot in his nostrils. He poured it slightly between his lips and savored the blend.  
  
"Enjoying yourself, Leon?" the wolf across from him asked.  
  
Leon lowered his cup and smiled at him, "Sip every drop like it was your last."  
  
Wolf leaned back in his chair in the little coffee shop they'd come to on the Boardwalk, smiling at Leon, "Yeah, that's the way you think, alright."  
  
"It comes from years of nearly getting killed."  
  
Wolf sipped his own cup of coffee and cream, "Well, that's one way of going at it. For me, everything seems less interesting. While for you, this coffee is something to be cherished about life, for me, it's just coffee."  
  
"And why is that?" Leon asked smiling.  
  
"Well, for some reason these days, I'm losing touch with why I do anything."  
  
"That's distressing."  
  
"Yeah, so I'm asking myself why do I go on."  
  
"So, why do you go on?"  
  
Wolf took another sip, "Well, let's see, I've got student loans to pay off."  
  
"That's important, but that's hard to parley into a reason to live." Leon said leaning on the table.  
  
"I'm not so sunk that I want to die."  
  
"So, what do you want?"  
  
"Ugh, I'm trying to consider revenge, but that's a little cliché. But, I'm just too unmotivated to even kill myself."  
  
"Well, you know that I certainly don't have that problem."  
  
Wolf chuckled, "Oh yeah, how well do I know Leon Powalski's reason to keep fighting. You get your kicks from duels!"  
  
"It's more the kicks, it's my religion."  
  
"Right, you believe that the culmination of a soldier's career is the one-on-one fair confrontation, it's your crazy philosophy."  
  
"It's the way I live my life Wolf. I grew up a pit fighter, I know what it's like to go round for round with a matched opponent, and theirs nothing like it. Then I became a pilot, and I truly found out what a duel really meant. You either win or lose, live or die, it's the ultimate test, one I plan to always pass. The soldier is nothing without this chance, to show your mettle as a living breathing creature, and it is the right of every soldier to be able to put his life on the line in head-to-head combat. They're not suppose to deny you that!"  
  
"But they did, didn't they?" Wolf interjected.  
  
"Yes, they did. What they don't understand is I didn't kill anybody, I battled and elevated them. They fought me like real men and won respect in their defeats. They chose to put their own existence on the line for honor, and they gained it in his death. Yet they would rather discharge one of their best flyers just because he chose to respect those people in such a way."  
  
Wolf leaned back and closed his eye. He made a low groan like he was calling up deep mental facets to watch on his mind's movie screen, "The life story of one Leon Powalski..." Wolf mumbled.  
  
Leon sat back as well and took another cherished sip, content to listen for the moment.  
  
"Born in Deep Seed, Katina, raised on the streets with only his mother to take care of him, at age fourteen his mother died, turned to fight clubs for emotional support. An unusual therapy..."  
  
"It's really the best therapy." Leon answered.  
  
"Oh, I know." Wolf continued, "Lived with aunt and uncle after that, became a regular piloting prodigy from playing Rival Skies II: Free Rain, made quite a pretty penny and a name for himself off of dog fights."  
  
"One of the few ways for undereducated street kids to get recognition."  
  
"It's been good to us, it got us freaking scholarships, damnit."  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
"So, the young Leon entered Rival Skies tournaments, won all of them, and made the militaries turn their heads, and at eighteen he got a scholarship to the super prestigious Cornarian Institute of Aeronautics..."  
  
Leon was just listening now, clutching his cup of coffee.  
  
"Where he learned to be all he could be, and met a strapping young lad by the name of Wolf. Anyway, graduation came and he was at the top of his class, and given the rank of Ensign and the command of an air lance of his own little Sprigs in the 5th CDF Fighter Wing." Wolf's gaze rose slowly to stare at Leon solemnly, "And he was good, a very good pilot and a good commander."  
  
Leon lowered his eyes to his coffee.  
  
"He was a great soldier, a credit to the profession. Yet, maybe he was a little too idealistic. You see, Leon was very much a man of honor, and when his honor was tested, he required some recompense. There were many a mercenary unit stationed at his base, many were rowdy, unruly jackasses, like a strapping young lad named Wolf. Anyway, these mercenaries liked to fight more then anything, and Leon was happy to indulge. So Leon was willing to fight these loud noisy fellows anytime they wished to try his honor, after a while, they were running out of mercenaries."  
  
Leon sighed quietly as he relived his life in his own mind, "Yep..."  
  
"Needless to say, the higher ups were angry that nearly half of their mercenary corps was getting blown up before leaving the planet. Leon gets called to a meeting with his superiors, the officers come down on him hard, Leon tries to explain himself and his philosophy, the discussion gets heated and... WHAM! The wing commander cracks Leon across the face."  
  
Leon frowned.  
  
"Leon keeps his cool, but... WHAM! The wing commander hits him a second time! Leon couldn't take it anymore and... WHAM! Just one small smack and the wing commander goes down with a broken eyebrow, what a pussy. After that it's all down hill, Leon gets put in the brig, he was facing charges all around, they were going to throw the book at him, 7 years hard labor at a Venom penal colony. Then, some strange stuff happened, a renowned mercenary under CDF employ shows up, who just happened to be a good friend of another mercenary, downed by Leon. This mercenary is very important, and used to getting her way, and when she finds out her buddy is dead, she demands a duel with the killer. The CDF tries to explain that Leon is going to jail, but the mercenary won't have it, she says if she doesn't get her match, she'll break her contract with the CDF and go freelance. The CDF doesn't want to lose her, so they reluctantly let it come to pass, but then, oh my gosh, here comes another wrench in the gears, Leon won't fight. Says he's not going to sacrifice his honor so that the CDF can save face. So the CDF says if he competes, they'll spare Leon the jail time, so he agrees. Fight day comes, tension is high, forces are going against each other, army versus mercenaries, honor versus order, revenge versus a way out. Leon and the mercenary go at it, it's a heated battle, and the end result... the mercenary dies! Nobody expected that! Everyone figured the mercenary would kill Leon solving everybody's problems, but wouldn't you know it, Leon was better after all. Now did the CDF have egg on it's face, you bet, they lost the mercenary anyway, and were still left with their problem case. Well, held to their word, they forgo jail time, and the strangest most un-democratic trial of the century ended. Leon got a court marshal and a dishonorable discharge for striking a superior officer or something, I think no one really knew by then. His soldier's pride was downed in one fell swoop... it's a disparaging story..."  
  
"It's a damn book of the week..." Leon said as he took another small sip.  
  
Wolf sighed, "Leon..." then he stopped as if he was thinking.  
  
"What?"  
  
"It... it really pisses me off to see you like this."  
  
Leon frowned, "Oh, like your doing so great, you don't have a reason to live, remember."  
  
"True, but what I'm saying is, you need to be back in a cockpit."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Leon, I can give that and more. This job I got, I can give you the chance to be a real soldier, I can give you the chance to duel until your thumbs fall off, I can assure no one is going to get in your way, you'll never have to worry about money again, you just have to follow my orders." Wolf said with newfound excitement.  
  
Leon looked up into Wolf's eye, surprised by the sudden enthusiasm, "Wolf... what job is this exactly?"  
  
Wolf leaned back, his smile sank and he spoke very quietly, "I've recently taken a position with the Venomese Revolutionary Militia..."  
  
Leon's eyes went wide as he heard the name, he fought to control his surprise.  
  
"They made me commander of a super elite squadron, special privileges, state of the art equipment, the works, we're like the Anti-Star Fox. Now what I need is you to join me in this squadron.  
  
Leon frowned, "Me? Join the Revolutionary Militia?"  
  
Wolf nodded as he took a swig of his coffee.  
  
"You must not know me very well," Leon said with a frown, "If you did, you'd know that I would never debase myself so much to join Andross. That psychopath doesn't deserve the grace of my presence." Leon adjusted his tone, seeing that some other patrons of the coffee shop were perking their ears to hear his conversation, "I may be at odds with the Cornarian Defense Force, which means almost certain death to my career, but I will never be so destitute as to sign up with Andross's cronies."  
  
Wolf's eye had been averted halfway through Leon's rant, focused on the mug of coffee in his hand, "Yeah, well... It's not like I'm a fan of Andross's either, but..." Wolf looked up now, his eye taking over the glow of purpose, "This is a little bit different from serving or not serving Andross. Our position within the Militia is such, that we can better serve ourselves."  
  
Leon lifted a hairless eyebrow in confusion, Wolf was trying to get at something.  
  
Wolf smiled slightly, "Leon, you believe so strongly in your soldier's principle, but what are you doing about it now? You're sitting around sulking, stealing money from school kids, what kind of soldier's life is that? It's pathetic really..."  
  
Leon averted his eyes and frowned.  
  
"But if you come with me, I can let you be a soldier again. You'll be in a position to pursue your ideals all you want. This will give you a chance to fly again, and not just in a video game."  
  
Leon found himself mumbling in agreement. He now had a chose to make, weither to stay loyal to a military that abandoned him, or finally return to the path of a true soldier but in a way he couldn't agree with.  
  
"I can't give you any of the idealistic crap they gave me when I joined, because I don't believe in it, but I can tell you this, this is only a method to gain what you need. It can put you back on the top, Leon, make you famous again, and show everyone what a soldier is really capable of."  
  
The choice seemed a lot simpler now, to be a soldier transcended what side you were on.  
  
Leon chuckled to himself, "Yeah... that sounds pretty good, Wolf..."  
  
Wolf smiled and nodded, "It is."  
  
"Well... far be it from me to turn down a sweet deal, count me in."  
  
Wolf's smile grew, "I knew I could count on you. Let's get out of here shall we."  
  
Wolf got up from his seat and stretched his arms, Leon got up as well, pulled a ten credit bill from his pocket and left it on the table, not caring for the change or interested in calculating the 15% tip.  
  
The two walked slowly to the door, where upon opening it, they were greeted with the cold rush of Fortuna's frigid airs. The wind bit across Leon's scaly green forehead and stabbed at his bulbous eyes making his blood that much colder, in less then a second his reptilian body adapted to the cold, but he clutched his trench coat closer anyway as he stepped outside behind Wolf.  
  
A light snow was falling now, filtering down slowly through the empty skylight of the Boardwalk, Leon never understood why Fortunan architecture chose to let snow in. It would make sense that in a really cold place, the inhabitants would want to get away from the cold, but whatever.  
  
They walked a few steps before Leon's walking cycle slowed back down to a halt, "So what's yours?"  
  
Wolf stopped in place and turned to look back at Leon, "What?"  
  
"What's your reason?"  
  
"My reason for what?"  
  
"You said that joining your squadron was only a method to get what you what. So what do you want? What's you reason for joining?"  
  
Wolf lowered his eye, obviously thinking or trying to remember, "Well..."  
  
"I know why..." Leon said smiling.  
  
Wolf lifted his eye to meet Leon's smiling face, "Then can you enlighten me, because I don't know myself."  
  
"I think you do, you said it before. You want to be the Anti-Fox McCloud."  
  
Wolf frowned.  
  
"I understand it. Back in the day, you strived to be what Fox wasn't, you wanted to be the responsible one, the dedicated one, the one to make people proud, weither they were peers or high ranking military officials, but unlike Fox, you never got over James McCloud's death. Where Fox became stronger with the will to fill his father's shoes, you let it really effect you, let it defeat you."  
  
Wolf shoved his hands in his vest pockets and stared at Leon with a stoic glare, "What's your point?"  
  
Leon tilted his head, a certain personal trait of his that he got when he was being arrogant, "You know I never understood your own personal relationship with James McCloud, why you let that name effect you so much... but I don't expect you to understand my soldier's quest. So whatever it means, I'm still down with you."  
  
"Well, thank you very much," Wolf said with a sarcastically smooth warble, "But I'm still searching for a point."  
  
"Sorry, back to my rant. This is your second chance isn't it. To be the kind of guy James McCloud was, a hero."  
  
Wolf's pupil shrank as he looked down, obviously contemplating what Leon said.  
  
"You said revenge, but Fox never did anything to you. You want revenge on Fox for James McCloud."  
  
"Is it so obvious. I don't like Fox, you know that, and I don't think he's doing a very good job with James's empire. What do you want from me?"  
  
Leon chuckled, "I only want your best, and I know I'm gonna get it now. My commitment makes me better, your vision will make you better."   
  
Leon saw a low, devious smile form on Wolf's lips.  
  
"After you had that falling out with the military after graduation, I was only seeing depressed Wolf, no purpose and no view, and albeit, he was a damn good fighter, but if you can tap that animosity and that sense of mission we're talking about here, then there's nothing I'm not gonna see you do."  
  
Wolf's teeth glared, white and sharp, "I like the noise you make, Leon."  
  
Leon glared his teeth in a smile as well, "Yeah, is there nothing those school counselors don't know. Let's get out of the cold already, old friend."  
  
-------  
  
Wolf took a moment to gather his surroundings; the assemblage of run down shops, the apartment ghettos towering over him, quiet streets with silent cars parked on them. An old gray coyote was hobbling down the sidewalk opposite him with cane and grocery bag in hand, and a rather slovenly looking pit bull was working disinterestedly at restocking a display of peaches.  
  
The smell of oil and smoke from the National Cornarian Manufacturers' factory several blocks away in Cornaria City's Industrial Sector, mixed with the meaty musky smell of spiced jerky cooking on open spigots up the hill at the open market, giving the whole area a gritty, yet tasty aroma, giving the Canine section of the city it's name, Smoky Hills. The smell clogged Wolf's nose at first, but it only took a moment for him to remember and relish the savory fragrance of the dirty meat smell of his old home.  
  
Smoky Hills was quiet today, being a Sunday most folks we at the big church in Hazel Circle, and after that head to the open market at Harbinger Street for a savory Sunday afternoon meal. There most likely wouldn't be too many people he knew out today, which was for the better, he didn't come back for a social call, he had a purpose, and he didn't need too many people seeing him.  
  
Turning away from the street, he looked upon the property he'd stopped in front of. A long plot of nearly barren dirt and grass with plenty of tire tracks that dug it up was in the yard, as well as a pile of tires near the front. There were a few automobiles, old ones, parked in a neat row along the side, all of them with parts missing like doors and lights and windshields, except for one sleek blue one that had a "For Sale" sign in the window. Near the rear was a collection buildings, a small garage with the doors wide open, and another longer office behind that, peeking out from the side. Just like he remembered it.  
  
Wolf placed his hands on the chain link fence door and pushed open. He then strode confidently to the garage in the back. Inside was a simple setting; tools hanging on a long rack along the back, the larger tools spread carelessly across the floor, a black sedan was lying pathetically on a jack, missing wheels and a back window. Under the hood, a certain figure was working intently, tinkering with some screw with the merry sound of a socket wrench.  
  
A pair of reddish brown furred arms, most of it covered in thick black grease, moved in and out of the engine. Strong and muscular, but still feminine, slim and sexy, that lead up to smooth shoulders, from which a dirty white shirt hung loosely down her even and sleek back, stopping just above the pant line, to show a healthy portion of her well toned stomach. She wore baggy pants but as she leaned to get inside the car hood, they coated and hugged the back of her legs, showing off those muscular beauties. A long shaggy tale protruded from below the small of her back and swished back and forth like a palm tree in a breeze.  
  
The women worked on in her engine, oblivious of Wolf's looming presence a few meters away. Wolf slowly lifted his right hand, and snapped his fingers with a clean, crisp sound.  
  
Slowly, a head rose from under the hood. Long floppy ears appeared first, coated with rich reddish brown hair dangling about them in Cocker Spaniel fashion, next came the subtle slope of the forehead to the snout, and finally Wolf could see one calm blue iris and ebony sheen black pupil.  
  
Her eyelids rose as she saw him standing there, then slowly sank back to normal level. She leaned up and out to full height, revealing the whole womanly beauty of her figure.  
  
A smile curled on Wolf's lips, "Hello, LeRoxy, you look busy."  
  
A smile curled onto the female Spaniel's lips as well. She selected a dirty cloth on a stool near the tool stand and began to wipe her grease stained paws on it, "Hello, Wolstof..."  
  
Wolf nearly snorted in surprise and amusement. He bared his grin carelessly and folded his arms, "Oh, is that how it's gonna be, Magdalene?"  
  
She merely smiled in his direction while gazing upon him with those simple blue eyes, "Oh, I'm sorry, Wolf, but you know I still think your real name is cuter."  
  
"Yeah, that's what the kids thought in elementary school, but they all ended up with black eyes."  
  
"You never seemed to mind when I called you Wolstof."  
  
"Well, you're one of the few people who can make it sound good, Maggie."  
  
Magdalene LeRoxy, better known as Maggie, chuckled a little as she gave up the futility of wiping off engine grease with a dry cloth, instead just hanging her thumbs off the pockets of her ragged dark green pants.  
  
"Been awhile..." Maggie said, her smile faltering a little.  
  
Wolf's smile fell a little as well and he shrugged, "Hasn't been that long..."  
  
"A few months..."  
  
"Yeah, well... I've been kinda busy."  
  
"I would assume so," Maggie's smile went up again, "You're always busy."  
  
"This time I really am." Wolf said smiling again and putting his hands in his vest pockets.  
  
"Really?" Maggie inquired sounding interested.  
  
"Something big."  
  
"How big?"  
  
"I'll never have to worry about money again."  
  
Maggie whistled in an impressed tone, "That's pretty big."  
  
"Yeah, but that's not why I took this job."  
  
"Well, why'd you take it?"  
  
Wolf averted his gaze a bit as he thought about it, "Well... you know how everybody has there own personal demons."  
  
"Umm... yeah, I guess."  
  
"Let's just say, this job should help me exorcize some of those inner demons."  
  
"Uh, I don't follow."  
  
Wolf's gaze was still averted to the stark yellow grass he was standing on, "This job isn't about the money this time, this time it's personal..."  
  
Wolf looked back up into Maggie's eyes, those eyes that expressed so simply, but so well what she saw. Now it was confusion, yet you could see her worry as well, worry for Wolf and his well-being. She understood him, better then he understood himself, but that's usually the case with old friends.  
  
As is also the case with old friends, their unified history goes way back. They'd shared the good times, the bad times, the hopelessness and the faith, the challenges and regret, the fun and the adventure, and the crippling traumas of each other. It was just one of those bonds that make you family.  
  
Wolf had known Maggie since he was a child, living the ghetto child life in "scenic" Smoky Hills. Life was simpler then, or maybe Wolf just didn't care too much, either way, life doesn't go on in the ghetto, it just passes by, and since the beginning Wolf passed it with Maggie. They had the simple play date friendship as youngsters, growing up in the same apartment building on Opal Avenue. It advanced into the love/hate, girls are icky phase of elementary school, and, as usual, when girls stopped being icky, their unit became stronger.  
  
Regardless of phases, they were always there for each other, they fought together, rocked together, and chilled together. Wolf was there when Maggie's older brother was arrested and convicted of grand theft auto. Maggie was there when Wolf's mother died when he was 8. Wolf was there when they were in the 8th grade and that jerk from 12th tried to take advantage of Maggie, Wolf got 6 stitches on his chin and a sprained wrist, but that senior was never going to mess with him or Maggie again. Maggie was there when Wolf's little sister ran away at age 13, pregnant with some rich kid from Uptown's baby. They both took the spills for each other in their teens when Wolf formed his immature little street gang, the Pointers, when they would go at it with the street gangs from Hello Park, the Feline section of Cornaria City.  
  
Through hell and hairballs, their relationship remained the usefulness of associating with each other, and although he never considered her his sister, there was no one at all that he trusted more. Family didn't have to have a name.  
  
Then came adulthood, quick and painful like a shot to the jaw, the pain lingered for a little bit, but it went away, and Wolf had to leave. Wolf moved on from Smoky Hills, leaving Maggie behind. Wolf was on his own path, and Maggie was on hers. Wolf's lead him away, while Maggie's stayed in the old neighborhood. Wolf became one of those mercenaries, the high flyers, tough protectors of the skies, fantasies for those 2nd graders playing with sticks as machine guns and bikes as space fighters, Maggie became the mechanic.  
  
However, like old friendships usually go, it doesn't end when you leave, the things that he missed the most about home where obviously the ones that brought him back. It was of necessity of course, Wolf needed a mechanic for various projects, and he said Maggie was the only mechanic he could trust. That was a good excuse, and Maggie took the job for that reason, outwardly, but they both knew it was a deeper reason they wanted to be around each other again. Family shouldn't need a reason.  
  
Wolf made a goofy apologetic smile for his lack of a better explanation. Maggie chuckled at that.  
  
"So, what brings you to Cornaria then?" Maggie asked.  
  
Wolf averted his eyes again, "Maggie, I'm gonna level with you, cause that's what we do. I got a job offer by the Venomese. They're gonna give me my own squadron, all the equipment I need, special privileges, the works, hell, they even made me a one star general," Wolf accentuated that last one by showing off the stars he had on either side of his vest collar.  
"And of course, I'm now one of them. That's my great job, I'm one of those monkey-worshipers. I'm a regular defector, but hey, I'm a mercenary, I go where the better deal is, right."  
  
Maggie looked at him with those simple blues eyes, absorbing this new intense information, not passing judgment just yet.  
  
"So, here's the thing, Maggie. I need a technician... and you're the only mechanic I've ever trusted when I needed work on a ship. I can give you 20,000 credit's a month, if you'll come and work for me... for the enemy... How about it?"  
  
Maggie just stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words were hard to completely understand at first, requiring some internal deciphering.  
  
Maggie's eyes took a more devious look as she leaned her head to the said, "Have you visited your dad?"  
  
Wolf's eyes flowed a bit fast at the mention, his posture slackened and he spoke in a grimmer tone, "No."  
  
"Are you going to?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You aren't curious at all how he's doing?"  
  
Wolf averted his eye to the side, "I couldn't care less."  
  
"Not at all?"  
  
"What do you think..."  
  
As could easily be identified by speaking with Wolf over the long term, there were certain things he preferred to step over in conversation, like the current losing streak of the Cornaria City Commandos soccer team, politics, and his less then perfect nuclear family; his mother who over-dosed on heroine and died in a bar, his runaway little pregnant sister, who he hadn't seen since he was 15, and his father, Luke O'Donnell.  
  
It was no wonder, considering the last time he saw his dear old dad was when he was 17 and he broke the man's jaw. It was the first and last time he ever stood up to his father, after which Wolf had to flee his childhood home and become an adult. His house was no longer a place he could stay.  
  
For Wolf these days, the term father was a loose title. A father was someone who you could depend on and be like, an example for you to become. What Luke O'Donnell was, was the tool that was part of Wolf's original conception, that was basically it, as well as the guy that he lived with and ate his food sometimes. Nine years of abuse, steady drinking, and skanky girlfriends, will ruin the image of a father for a kid. So, when that night finally came, when Wolf had been hit one too many times, he stood and hit him like a grown man, then ran like a coward. In terms of someone to look up to, James McCloud was his real father.  
  
"He's still there you know..." Maggie urged.  
  
"Can we drop this Maggie, I didn't come here to talk about my father."  
  
"Fine, but what about the guys, the old Pointers, are you gonna see them?"  
  
"No..."  
  
"So... you only came here to see me."  
  
Wolf gave a careless smile and shrugged, "Yeah..."  
  
Maggie looked down for a moment and nodded to herself, obviously thinking about something, "Well... I think the Venomese Revolutionary Militia has better mechanics then me, you can learn to trust them."  
  
Wolf shrugged, "It's not just that..."  
  
"Then what is it?" Maggie inquired, leaning her frame against the car's door.  
  
"Well... you know..."  
  
"Wolf..." Maggie's tone was slightly more urgent this time. Wolf looked into her simple eyes again, now expressing a slight slit of neediness, wanting to see something more personally from Wolf, wishing to receive the slightest acknowledgment from the object of her gaze. It was a look that passed between the two every once in a while, a look Wolf knew well, yet could not understand at all. He could not discern it's meaning, nor comprehend a way to respond. However, it was all over in a moment, and it may have seemed like nothing passed at all except a different shading on her simple blue eyes, yet it left you feeling something.   
  
"I have to know... do you just want me to come with you because you need a mechanic... or... do you want me to come, because you need... something more... from me?"  
  
Wolf blinked his eye, and when he opened it again, it was pasted on a random power tool laying on the floor, "Well, I don't exactly trust everyone I'm working with... so, I need an... ally."  
  
"An ally?" Maggie clarified.  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
Maggie made a disappointed "Oh." sound.  
  
Wolf looked up at her, now her head was lowered, starring at something random on the floor, her eye lids at half mast, and her lips in an indifferent frown.  
  
"Look, Wolf... I have a lot to do around here still... fixing up these old clunkers and stuff..."  
  
Wolf frowned rapidly as he heard her statement. He then noticed a black smudge of grease on Maggie's cheek right below her eye. Looking around, Wolf spotted a clean looking cloth sitting daintily on the trunk of the broken down car. Grabbing it with one hand he drew closer to Maggie. He took her chin gently in his hand, holding along her smooth jaw line, and lifted her head up until their eyes met again.  
  
"You got something there."  
  
Wolf lifted up the cloth and tenderly rubbed the black spot on her cheek. As he smoothed away the soot, Wolf felt Maggie's head in his hands, it rested there, it wasn't held down, it nestled in his palm being supported by his strong hand. She was at peace in his grasp, not fidgety or awkward. His touch was like a soothing balm to her.  
  
"Maggie..." Wolf started in a softer tone, "I really do need you... as a friend, to help me out here, you're the only one I can turn to..."  
  
Maggie's simple eyes were answer enough, you could see them smiling, and soon enough her lips followed suit, "Yeah, ok..."  
  
Wolf smiled too, he removed the cloth and then realized that he just rubbed the soot deeper into her fur, "Whoops, just made it worse."  
Peace kids... 


End file.
